


Manhattan Melodrama

by deklava



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, BDSM, Cunnilingus, Dubious Consent, F/M, Fingerfucking, M/M, Oral Sex, Sex Toys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-01
Updated: 2012-06-01
Packaged: 2017-11-06 13:16:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/419331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deklava/pseuds/deklava
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John hires Manhattan's sassiest call girl to teach Sherlock some manners.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Manhattan Melodrama

_From the Diary of Alicia Rand, Call Girl_

The Rideley Hotel in Manhattan was my home away from home. I worked, slept and played there more often than I did in my sadly neglected uptown penthouse suite. Jeffreys, the grey-haired, apple-cheeked doorman, smiled in welcome as my taxi pulled up to the canopied entranceway. It was raining heavily tonight, so he opened up a red umbrella before hurrying down the damp carpeting to assist me out of the car.

"Evening, Miss Rand," he said cheerily, waiting until I had paid the driver before extending his white-gloved hand. I took it (at the same time pressing a twenty into his palm) and swung my long, black-stockinged legs out onto the curb. Jeffreys admired them with a small grin. He knew that underneath my ankle-length black leather trench coat, only a black satin pushup bra and matching G-string protected me from the obscenity laws.

"Evening, Jeffreys," I replied. He walked me to the front door of the hotel and then turned back outside with a respectful nod. I knew that he'd spend the rest of his shift wishing he were rich enough to afford me.

I walked through the lobby, spike heels stabbing into the ornate Oriental carpeting, and stepped into the elevator. As I waited for the brass cage to take me up to the top floor, I shifted my leather carry-bag from one shoulder to the other. Who'd have thought that a studded paddle, strap on dildo, handcuff set, and king's ransom in condoms could weigh so much?

The man who booked this appointment over the phone last week had called himself John Watson. In a soft, English-accented voice, he and a famous friend, whom he refused to identify over the phone, were in Manhattan for two weeks on business. All he would disclose was that his associate was male, an "arrogant sod most of the time", and into kinky sex. I was noncommittal until a messenger arrived the next day with the money and a slip of paper with the hotel address and room number. Nothing had been specified as to the services wanted, so I packed an assortment of toys. Better to lug around a heavy dildo than be left dickless at a crucial moment.

I got off at the top floor and paused to check my reflection in the hall mirror. I looked every inch the classy woman that I was: all red lips, pearly skin, golden hair, and swelling cleavage. I loved my reflection so much that I wished I could pull it out of the cool glass and fuck it.

I found the door and knocked. Footsteps approached on the other side. The lock rattled, and then the door opened.

The man who stood before me was short, blonde, and had a friendly, open face. He wore faded jeans and a fawn-colored sweater.

"Alicia Rand?" he queried. I recognized the voice: John Watson.

"I'm not a Mormon missionary," I smiled.

He grinned too. "If you were, I'd be their fucking fastest convert." He extended his hand. "John Watson. Sorry about the aroma in there, but we just finished a late dinner. Or I did, anyway. Sherlock doesn't usually eat when he's on a case."

"Sherlock?"

He stood aside and waved me in. As I passed, he said, "Yes- my friend and your client. He's in the toilet. He'll be out in a second."

"Your call intrigued me," I admitted. "I've been curious all week as to who it is."

He laughed. "Don't tell me you've never worked with celebs before."

"Mr. Watson," I said loftily as I unbuckled my coat and opened it, "I've caned judicial butts, dripped hot wax on socialites, and rapped political knuckles until they bled. Celebrities are no rarity."

"Yes, you've been highly recommended. I've heard that you're discreet and you never disappoint."

Watson's eyes travelled over my body, taking in my five thousand dollar boob job, narrow waist, and runway legs. I let him get his fill while I checked out the room. Whoever had paid for such an elaborate suite could have saved their money- books, magazines, and photocopies were strewn everywhere, killing the elegance and making it look busy and cheap. A laptop on the desk was open to a website called The Science of Deduction.

The toilet door opened. "Never order that horrible American dish again, John!" a rich and deep voice complained. "Just the smell of it is burning holes in my stomach."

The man who barged out could have been a male model, if he wasn't already. He was taller than average, and his slender form was clad in a deep purple shirt and black trousers. Rich dark curls brushed canyon-cliff cheekbones, and his skin was so white that he practically glowed. I wondered if he was, or ever had been, a drug user - he had a nervous aggression that I usually saw only in someone desperate for a fix of some kind.

When he saw me he stiffened, and his eyes narrowed warily. I tensed. Perhaps John was the only one who'd been expecting me tonight.

"Who are you?" he demanded imperiously.

"Sherlock," John said, stepping beside me, "this is the dominant I hired. Alicia Rand, this is Sherlock Holmes."

"WHAT?" The possible-model's nostrils flared in rage. "You hired a woman?"

"Sherlock-"

"Are you stupid!" Holmes spat. "Where were you when I told you that women weren't my area? Oh, I remember now- stuffing your face at Angelo's, and not paying attention as usual."

John Watson's lips tightened. I thrust my face toward Sherlock's. I had dealt with horny cops looking for freebies and pro-wrestlers who claimed to have forgotten their wallets at home...a skinny English man-child didn't scare me. Especially if I'd never heard of them, John Watson's celeb comment notwithstanding.

"Women aren't your area? If it's because you're gay, fine. But if it's because you're afraid of meeting a bigger bitch than you are, then it's pathetic. Easier to hide your fears than face them, I suppose. But safety can be so boring."

Sherlock's head jerked back like he'd just been slapped. His eyes widened and lips twitched in amusement or fury, it was hard to tell. I stared him down. I hated overgrown brats like this, who made other people their personal dartboards. I actually regretted that I wouldn't be able to lay a paddle across the tight cheeks that rippled beneath the black trousers. My hands already itched like mad.

Suddenly, his hostile countenance relaxed. "That's an interesting perspective," he admitted with grudging admiration. "Seeing as you're here and obviously have been paid for, I might as well try something different. Might get my mind off of the memory of that horrible dinner."

After glaring at John again and sighing like a long-suffering martyr, he turned toward the bed, shrugged his shirt off, and unbuckled his belt. Then he threw himself facedown onto the duvet, and lowered his trousers and boxers just enough to expose his creamy buns.

"All right," he growled into the pillow, "let's get it over with." He reached out and grasped the headboard. As if on cue, John took two leather straps from the nighttable drawer and secured his companion's wrists to the posts.

"Watch my circulation," Sherlock warned, tugging against the bindings to test them. "You don't always know what you're doing."

John said nothing, but I noticed how his lips tightened into a thin white line. As he moved away from the bedside, I wondered how the hell he took Sherlock's crap so stoically. You couldn't pay me enough for that.

"Paddle me first," Sherlock ordered, nestling his hips further into the rumpled sheets. "It always warms me up for the rougher stuff. And you better be damn good, woman."

I tossed my trench coat all the way off. The air conditioning was turned up, but my blood was boiling too much for me to feel chilled. I unzipped my bag and took out my studded leather paddle. I'd show that catty fucker what a warm-up was. He'd be frying eggs on his ass when I was done.

"Wait." John Watson's voice was eerily deep as he grabbed my wrist. He was pale with fury. "Please… I know this isn't routine, but may I have that paddle for a minute?"

I gave it to him. Sherlock, peering over his shoulder at us, observed the transaction and started yelling.

"HEY! What the fuck's going on here. Don't go pulling any tricks or I'll-"

His words were choked off by a scream as John brought the paddle crashing down on his ass with the brute force of an executioner's axe. Watson snatched a red handkerchief off the nightstand and crammed it in his mouth before raining more blows on the quivering butt below.

"Fucker," John hissed, "I've had it up to here with your attitude. You think that because Lestrade kisses your arse to get you to crime scenes and the bloody banks throw money at you to figure out their security flaws, you're better than the rest of us. You aren't, and right now you're nothing but a tied-up, sorry-arsed whipping boy. MY whipping boy."

I sat slowly down at the desk. Reckonings like this were my favorite part of any movie. John Watson was a nice, down-to-earth guy who was finally saying, "No more." The punishment I was witnessing was technically illegal, as Sherlock was unable to escape or even protest verbally, but I knew that deep inside, a need for firm treatment motivated him. He was a bitch because he craved the discipline bitchery warranted. He was born to be tied up and beaten. Watching nature taking its course like this made me so wet I couldn't resist lowering my G-string and circling my clit with my index finger. I didn't want to come yet...sexual high was more mind-blowing than the best coke.

Finally John stopped, leaving the room silent except for their laboured breathing. His face dripped sweat and Sherlock's ass was a horrible purplish red, signaling future bruises. I couldn't have done a better job myself.

"Well?" John queried heavily. "You still think you're such hot shit? The only thing hot about you right now is this." He put one large hand on Sherlock's abused buttocks. Holmes flinched and groaned in agony. Watson continued to stroke his ass with one hand and, to my intrigue, grope his own swelling crotch with the other.

"You know something?" he said thoughtfully. "I never found you attractive before. But tied up like this, sweating like a normal person, you're actually beautiful. I never thought I'd say this about a bloke."

He slid his hand under Sherlock's body and manipulated. Holmes raised his hips from the bed to allow those caressing fingers easier access. Moans of real pleasure vibrated in his throat, and his hands opened and closed spasmodically.

"Shit," John whispered, "I don't think you've really been punished at all. You're leaking like a goddamn sieve." He pulled out his hand, which glistened with a thick, clear fluid, and held it to Sherlock's face. "Now," he ordered, pulling out the bandana, "lick it off. All of it."

Sherlock licked his full lips to moisten them. Now was the crucial moment, in which he could revert to his vitriolic self and scream abuse fouler than ever, or acknowledge John as his current superior. I waited. To my delight, Sherlock extended his neck, drew John's fingers into his mouth, and washed them clean of his own arousal. His tongue slid lovingly over the digits like they were miniature cocks. His eyes were half-closed in euphoria. I leaned back in the chair and started fucking myself in earnest. One finger pressed down on my aching clit while my other hand tackled my dripping twat. Impartial observer, hell.

The two men on the bed were oblivious to me right then. John climbed onto the bed, knelt between Sherlock's outstretched arms, and unzipped his jeans. He lowered the elastic waistband of his boxers; the hard cock he drew out of hiding was glistening with pre-cum, and an angry red.

"Now," he said, taking Sherlock by the hair and shuffling closer, "suck me good, fucker, and maybe you won't have to be carried from this bed by the end of the night."

Sherlock's lips circled the plum-colored head and swallowed the shaft until his nose was buried in pubic hair. John closed his eyes and let his head fall back. He looked so blissful that I suspected that he'd fantasized about this moment for awhile. His thick fingers stroked the dark curls like they were the finest silk. He started pumping his hips, slowly at first, but increasing speed as his excitement rose.

"Yeah, that's it," he gasped. "Suck my dick. Make me blow my load."

Rivers of saliva coursed down Sherlock's chin as he worked on the plunging tool in his throat. He humped the sheets in his own arousal, exposing his tight asshole with each upward thrust. A gorgeous man-bitch reduced to a total slut, sucking off his friend in a room stale with the smell of sex and greasy cooking. It was too much for my horny sensitivities. I bit my lip to keep quiet as I came all over my hand.

"You..." John panted. "Miss Rand."

"Yeah?"

"Got any lube in that bag of tricks?"

I wiped my hand on Sherlock's discarded shirt. "I can scrape some out of these takeout boxes."

That made him laugh. "No, really."

I took out a wrinkled tube of KY and tossed it to him. He caught it in one hand, opened it, and smeared some of the contents over his middle and index fingers. He then leaned over Sherlock's squirming back, slid the slickened digits between his buttocks, and probed inward. Holmes wriggled on the mattress like a freshly caught fish. Cries of pleasure vibrated in his meat-stuffed throat.

"Oh, fuck," Watson groaned, "having you moan around my dick is incredible. Holy shit."

After a few more seconds of torturous finger-fucking, John pulled out of Sherlock's mouth with a wet pop, climbed over his body, and positioned him with his shoulders down and butt in the air. He grasped the sore cheeks and pried them open.

"You want me to fuck you, bitch?" he asked.

"Yes," Sherlock whispered.

"I'm not so sure you deserve it."

"John...please."

Watson looked over at me. "Got a condom?"

I threw him a ribbed one. He ripped open the foil packet, rolled the rubber over his shaft, and lubricated it thoroughly.

"Now beg me again," he ordered Sherlock, dealing out a hard slap.

"Please!"

"You know," John said, suddenly thoughtful, "Miss Rand should be in on this."

Sherlock and I both lifted our heads.

"Alicia... up here on the pillow if you please. This arrogant sod is going to put his mouth to good use tonight. He's going to suck you off as well as he did me, or he'll be in traction for a week."

He didn't need to instruct me twice. I took his former place, my moist pussy only inches from Sherlock's lordly face. His hot breath blasted my sensitive inner lips, which already burned in lust.

"You ever eaten pussy before?" John demanded, slapping him again.

"No...never. I told you- not my area."

"Well, you're moving to a different neighborhood tonight. Get your face in her. Eat her. And if you don't do it well, your arse will eat my fist to the elbow."

Sherlock Holmes pressed his lips to my clit and sucked on it with enough pressure to drive me nuts. I hissed behind clenched teeth and grabbed him by the head. At the same time, John plunged into Sherlock's waiting ass and rocked him for all he was worth.

When I came, it was like baptising Sherlock Holmes into a broader sexual perspective. He ate me with real enthusiasm, breaking stride only to come when John did. After we all disentangled and Sherlock was untied, we laid there on the sex-spattered mattress, gathering strength and cataloguing the night's next adventures. I won't elaborate further, but before the sun rose Sherlock and I had both been fucked in every possible opening. At one point, John leaned both of us over the bed and alternated!

I'll be seeing them again on Saturday, and this time another party will be joining us. When John booked the session, I asked, "Who will it be?"

"Someone big in politics," he chuckled.

"Big as in the mayor?"

"Bigger. The British government, actually. He'll be actively involved in Sherlock's attitude adjustment too- apparently he has a few things to teach us."

I can't wait to find out what that means.


End file.
